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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795578">a patient and plodding green skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/upinapinetree/pseuds/upinapinetree'>upinapinetree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:01:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/upinapinetree/pseuds/upinapinetree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots on James and Lily's relationship, and how it begins and how it grows deeper.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter &amp; Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a patient and plodding green skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>James Potter thinks there must be a certain magic in celebrating Christmas at Hogwarts. Hogwarts is over-indulgent with the holiday decorations in a way that not even his mother could compete (although she does come close), the floating torches throughout the castle seem to glow a bit more orange that makes one feel warm and fuzzy inside, the snow does come down in the prettiest and most touching way in their part of Scotland - but let Sirius never know that James has thought this. James never manages to snap out of his reverie that he is lucky enough to count himself an inhabitant of this dark, Gothic, magical castle, where in spite of the eerieness at times, the grand, looming nature of it matches perfectly with the rich feeling of Christmas. The Potter Manor is no Hogwarts, but his Mum and their team of house elves do a spectacular enough job as it is. Plus it’s home, and nothing beats home. (He really hopes his parents have gotten him the latest Nimbus Ultra, because there is Slytherin butt to kick in their next match in March.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been a week since James has been home for the holidays, and one morning he traipses down in his white shirt and snitch pyjama pants blearily towards the kitchen, when he spots Professor McGonagall in his sitting room, sipping tea with his parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yelps and jumps a mile high. Clearly awake now. “Min - Professor! Morning but - </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor McGonagall gave him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was all too familiar with, and was about to reply him in her trademark irritable way, when Euphemia Potter, who was sitting next to her, cut in. “James, dear, Minnie missed our monthly tea last month - she had so much on her plate, what with that slew of attacks on a number of families of the Muggle-born students, you remember, I’m sure - but she’s making up for it now.” she beams and faces McGonagall. “I wish you did join us for Christmas dinner though, we would have made space for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McGonagall quipped, “I see enough of Potter enough at school, holidays are for ah - recovering and recalibrating.” to which his mum and dad give some mixture of exasperated sigh and awkward laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont Potter, who had been sitting in his chair by the fireplace (a large, tufted navy armchair that has been around as far back as James can remember, and he swears retains some imprint of his dad’s arse. Fleamont is protective to death of it, and reiterates its continued utility to no end, particularly when Euphemia is adamant on tossing that thing out), lowered the copy of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daily Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was reading and says, “Say - Minnie, speaking of Hogwarts - how is dear James here doing with his classes? He never mentions much in his letters, you know, it’s all Quidditch, and pranks with the boys, and -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James sighs and flops himself down to the ottoman opposite his mum and McGonagall.  He hasn’t even had his coffee or any breakfast yet. School! It was holidays, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McGonagall set down her teacup and saucer down on the table daintily and started, “Well, Potters, I must say, while my hopes that your son would focus less on the pranks and daydreaming, he has nevertheless shown himself to be an innately bright and talented wizard with a great intuition and flexibility with magic.” Euphemia and Fleamont beamed at each other. “But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James groaned inwardly. Euphemia and Fleamont whipped their heads back in shock. “But…?” they say slowly together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McGonagall fixes her piercing stare at James across the table. “It seems that this term, his Potions grade seems to ah - have slipped a few notches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont sputtered, “Potions? A few notches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, I don’t ordinarily reveal this to the student’s parents so early in the term. At Hogwarts, we understand that Fifth Year has usually proven a steep bell curve for students to adjust to, and from our experience, students do seem to have a better grasp for the topics by the month leading up to O.W.Ls… but Potter, I too struggle to understand - you had been consistently adept at Potions since First Year, and you come from a particular Potioneering pedigree! You were doing well at the start of Term too, so Professor Slughorn was as aghast as I that he had to mark you a “T” for your last essay -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Euphemia and Fleamont were clutching at each others hands now, from their respective sofas. “A - a “T”? Surely Minnie, you must be mistaken…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not mistaken, unfortunately. The strange thing, Potter, is that Professor Slughorn mentions that your essay was entirely fine and sound until your concluding thesis that ran entirely counter to everything you had been arguing before! And the same for your last practical on the Confusing Concoction - you were doing fine up until the last step, when you had sprinkled some chopped Rotsworth Root that nullified all your efforts before!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James would have to vet his parents’ guest lists in the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James had managed to extricate himself from the party to grab a plate of whatever his house elf Cubbi had cooked up for him and ran upstairs to the safety of his room. He could still hear his parents and McGonagall downstairs. He whipped out a handheld mirror from his bedside table and started, “Pads - hey Pads, you the -” when he heard his parents knocking on his door. He sighed and stashed the mirror under his pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Ordinarily, parents would feel entitled to barge in to their child’s room, and James’s parents had been those parents up till the last summer, when they very unceremoniously walked in to James wanking off. Which is why they now waited for James’ green light as so -)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Euphemia and Fleamont stepped in gingerly (the events of last summer still burned bright in their minds) and sat down at the foot of James’s bed. “James - well we’re just going to cut to the chase here - hm, ah…” they shot each other looks as if not knowing how to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James, as your parents, we care most of all about your happiness and well-being -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ - and we love you very much, and know that O.W.Ls must be a very stressful topic for you, and we would never want to cause you undue stress -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ - and O.W.Ls don’t determine your worth, and we count ourselves so lucky to have such an obedient, filial, bright, and thoughtful child -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ - we don’t want you to think that one bad grade puts you on a certain path -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ - but if you feel you need support, as your parents, we are only too willing to provide you with all the resources you need -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont couldn’t help himself with the pleasantries any longer, and let out a pained cry. “ - but of all things, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Potions</span>
  </em>
  <span>? James, it already doesn’t lend Sleekeazy’s credibility that you have… the hair that you do… but if people found out my son couldn’t brew even a Pepper-Up potion…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James interjected, “I know how to brew a Pepper-Up just fine, thanks,” but was ignored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont grabbed at James’s hands. “I thought I gave you enough guidance at home! Your entire childhood, all those summers you’ve spent in my Chambers, brewing potions even your classmates wouldn’t have heard of…! You’ve seen the finest and rarest potions ingredients that people would kill to experiment with…!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are my options for tutoring then? Did Min - Professor McGonagall say anything?” James raised hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Euphemia is standing now, arms crossed, and shot a look at Fleamont before she answered James. “Well, she was as puzzled as us on why you suddenly are turning these grades for Potions - Professor Slughorn normally would give it some time and see if the student improves, but we all felt that with O.W.Ls looming quick…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont looked closely at James as he said, “Well Minnie suggested a tutor. One of the other Fifth Years, who is doing well with Potions at present and on whom the extra responsibility of tutoring you might not be so onerous…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James inched closer to his parents. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And…</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d think you’d be turning the same grade as Sirius, since you two practically copy off the other anyway, and you’re like two pumpkin pasties in a packet - really, I don’t understand </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> you managed a “T” - anyway, we were of the view that if Sirius’ potions knowledge hasn’t rubbed off you the last Term it wouldn’t matter if he tutored you, not that you two would get anything done -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleamont set his hands on his knees and stared at the ceiling. “She did say ah - Euphemia, what were those names? - Robert Turnpike [here, James made a rude sound], I think, some odd name, S… Severed… Severus, was it? Severus Snape [James turned pale], and … ah, yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lily Evans</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lily.” James jumped off his bed. “It should be Lily Evans. Should I write McGonagall now? Is it too soon? It shouldn’t be, since I should ideally start tutoring sessions once Term begins next week. Lily Evans should have some advance notice too. Mum, Dad - didn’t you say you were going to pop by Hogsmeade to pick up some treats from Honeydukes?” James was practically pushing them out of his room. “I have something to do now. Bye.”</span>
</p>
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